The Pale Banner
The air in the Oakhaven Hall smells of roasted pork and stale beer, a thick, cloying humidity that clings to your skin like a second, heavier coat. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, and for the first time in your life, you are not merely a man walking the border but a man who has been granted the permanent commission you have bled for, a distinction that should feel like a shield but...
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